


Remember This

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-03
Updated: 2005-09-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia stays a little longer... alternative ending to "You're Welcome"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember This

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

NOTES: Written for the PWP ficathon. Crayonbreakygal requested Wes/Angel/Cordy. It was her third choice, but I needed to write this. Set AtS Season 5 – “You’re Welcome”. Title and various quotes come from “Casablanca”, the best film ever made.

Heartfelt thanks Lonelybrit and Caoilainn, who did sterling beta work. LB listened to me whine on and on about this for weeks, and Caoilainn gave invaluable help and advice on the smut. Without her, poor Wes would be limping for days *g*. 

 

**Remember This**

If there was one thing that being dead gave you, it was a sense of perspective. Like the guy said in Casablanca, it didn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people didn't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Though she’d never really been clear on what a hill of beans was and why it should be considered so unimportant. She’d been fairly vocal on that point when they’d watched the film a lifetime ago on one of their video nights. 

It had been Wesley’s turn to pick, but when Angel and Gunn had expressed their approval at his choice she’d felt her heart sink. A film liked by all three guys had to be bad news. Wesley had pretended to choke when she’d admitted she’d never actually seen the movie, and was starting to lecture her on her pitiful knowledge of cinema - “particularly considering your choice of career, Cordelia” – but Gunn was already throwing quotes and microwave popcorn at them when Angel had sighed heavily and put the tape on.

It hadn’t started well. It was black and white, and the hero wasn’t exactly a hottie. At least when they watched "The Terminator" she got Michael Biehn to drool over. Then she got confused about the lead actress who she was sure was Ingmar Bergman, but Angel insisted that she was thinking of the director of “The Seventh Seal”, where the guy played chess with the Grim Reaper. Well, she knew for a fact _that_ was “Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey”, but Gunn had disagreed and said it was Twister and not chess, and then Wesley had thrown a complete hissy fit and told everyone to shut up and watch the bloody film or he’d do some reaping of his own.

When the laughter had finally died down, and they’d settled to watch the film, it had turned out to be pretty good. For an old movie. Apart from the ending, which was frankly disappointing. When she had pointed out, fairly politely she thought, that it might have been nice for Rick and Ilsa to end up together, she’d had to endure a thirty minute lecture on the importance of redemption and sacrifice and unspoken nobility from Wesley, which had just made her even more determined to dig her heels in and be deliberately obtuse. She’d ended up refusing to understand the whole hill of beans scenario, and Wesley had paid her back by humming tunelessly the whole way through Julia Robert’s death scene in Steel Magnolias the following week.

Anyway, back to the perspective thing. And the being dead thing. To be honest, it wasn’t that bad; she spent a lot of time shopping in what she supposed was heaven, although it was surely a sin to possess as many shoes as she now did. So here she was, the Imelda Marcos of the ether, getting one final visit to earth to set her guy back on track. The Powers that Be owed her, but they had outlined the rules of her visit, and then tacked on that dumb Cinderella clause. Back by midnight, like she was a teenager with a curfew. 

They’d forgotten about perspective. Hers, to be specific. The Powers could ramble on for hours about the sacrifice and dignity, only not as comically as Wesley, but they didn’t fool her. She knew what was coming, and she knew exactly how much it didn’t matter if she wasn’t back at midnight on the dot. She’d get her ass kicked a little, they’d maybe take away her unlimited shoe allowance, but it would be worth it. What’s a dead girl going to do with all those shoes anyway?

She pulled away from the kiss, vision passed, deed done, and Angel closed his eyes, put out a hand to steady himself. She smiled to herself, a small self-satisfied smile. _Still got it._

The phone began to ring, and Angel half-stepped towards it, then stopped sheepishly. 

“You know, um... I don't...I don't need to get that.”

She smiled again. “You’re right. You don’t. If it’s important they’ll call back.” 

She drew him close again, and tilted her mouth to his.

There was a soft cough from the doorway. “Is someone going to answer the phone?” Wesley asked quietly.

*~*~*~*

It was inevitable.

They’d ended up in Angel’s penthouse, sprawled in the armchairs that taste forgot, cracking open a bottle of what she called Scotch on purpose just to annoy Wes. He’d obligingly started in on a lecture on the correct nomenclature for Islay whiskeys, but she’d not been able to keep her face straight and had giggled till she choked on a mouthful of 18 year old Lagavulin and ruined her blouse.

She’d tried sponging it in Angel’s en-suite bathroom, after boggling at the vast array of very expensive cosmetics that had somehow amassed themselves on the elegantly overstated marble countertop

She lifted a tiny blue bottle of oil and shook her head in wonder. “You know this costs thirty dollars a bottle? And Detox Toning Oil. Really, Angel, you have a woman’s bathroom, you know that?”

There had been shuffling of feet and mumbling about stress and responsibility of leadership, accompanied by the sound of Wesley laughing his ass off. She’d looked over at the two of them, rolled her eyes and sighed. 

It was then she realized it was inevitable.

On reflection, she’d probably realized it a long time ago. Back in Sunnydale she’d been shallow, she was prepared to admit that much, but at least she’d had taste. Salty Goodness and Way 007, if she remembered correctly. 

The shine had worn off pretty quickly, though. Closer association with Angel had revealed that he was more dork than dark Avenger, and it had only taken one kiss to turn the handsome prince into a frog. But she’d sensed something about them all those years ago. Her guys. Her family. The two people she trusted absolutely with her life. 

It was their reminiscing about that particular incident that had landed them in their present situation. It started when Wesley laughed so hard his eyes watered and she and Angel had both shouted allergies at the same time. That had led to Wes and Angel quoting the list of things Cordy had learned from that one night stand.

“Men are evil.” Angel turned to Wesley. “Men, mind you. Not vampires. You knew that, right?” Wesley nodded solemnly, and she thought she ought to be congratulated for her restraint in not throwing her drink over them both.

“LA is full of self-serving phonies.” Wesley wagged his finger sternly, and Angel gave a mock gasp.

“No! You can’t be serious.”

She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to one side. “Can we just say thirty dollars a bottle, Detox Boy?”

Wesley’s allergies were threatening again, as he lolled on the edge of a particularly hideous sofa, giggling softly. He put up his hand in a vaguely schoolboy manner. “Wait, wait, I have one!”

Angel lifted his glass and waved it in Wes’ general direction. “Knock yourself out, Wes.”

Wesley wobbled dangerously on the sofa arm, in some danger of taking Angel literally. “It’s sex!”

Angel nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! That was the one.” The two of them looked at each other then yelled simultaneously.

“Sex is bad!”

Cordelia looked at them both for a long moment, then narrowed her eyes speculatively. 

“Not necessarily.”

*~*~*~*

Wesley groaned softly and raised his hips in reflex, but Cordelia had already moved on to his other thigh. She ran her fingertips lightly over the hairs, barely touching the skin, and then blew gently on his inner thigh. This time the groan had a whining quality.

“Cordy !”

They’d started with Wesley, who’d protested that he was quite capable of undressing himself, thank you very much, but in the end hadn’t done much to stop them. He’d been a bit taken aback when Angel had ripped his shirt off, but in fairness, those buttons had been really fiddly.

She blew again on his thigh, inordinately pleased with the twitch it produced. 

“Stop bloody tickling me!” He moved his hand down to guide her lips forward, but she slid out from under him.

She folded her hands under her chin, resting on her elbows between his spread legs, carefully avoiding touching any part of his body. She looked up at Angel, who was lying on his side, watching then both with a gentle, almost nonchalant desire.

“See, I told you he wouldn’t stay still.” 

Angel shook his head, trying hard to fake disappointment, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. 

“I think he needs some help with that.” She nodded to Angel, then tapped Wesley’s knee lightly. “Hands above your head, Wes.” 

Wesley shivered, an involuntary full body shudder that lifted his hips, then stretched his arms up towards the headboard. Angel shifted beside him, moving closer to arrange Wesley’s arms so that they were crossed at the wrist.

There was no rush in Angel’s movements now; he was meticulous in his attention to detail. He clamped one hand down firmly over the crossed wrists, then traced the other along the underside of Wesley’s arm, outlining the muscle, mapping it.

The feather light touch of Angel’s fingers had to be excruciatingly ticklish, but Wesley was still, his eyes slightly glazed as he watched Angel stroke down the curve of his upper arm. 

Angel trailed his fingers across the hollow of his collar bone, then leaned over and ghosted his lips over Wesley’s ear.

“Good, Wes. Hold still?” He made it a question, and Wesley whispered his consent, stilling completely, the only movement now the rise and fall of his chest.

Cordy was suddenly reminded strongly of Wesley’s faithful servant days, and the look of possessiveness that Angel gave Wesley then made her wonder if the whole mindwipe scenario had been entirely about Connor. She’d meant to have a talk with Angel about that too, but now didn’t really seem a particularly opportune moment.

Not while Wesley was lying between them, naked and quite obviously highly aroused. She sat back on her heels and surveyed the scene with a degree of pleasure.

“Enjoying the view?” Angel sent her a lazy smile, and trailed his fingers along Wesley’s jaw line.

“He’s been working out.” She grinned back at Angel. “Or maybe it’s steroids.” She reached over with her thumb and forefinger, pinching his thigh muscle hard. “Nope, feels natural.”

“Ow!” Wesley somehow managed not to move, but his glare was promisingly deadly.

“Didn’t we say no noise?” She drummed her fingers on his thigh, pretending to think. 

“Hmm. Think it was no talking.” Angel nodded sagely. “Ow is a word, right?”

“Oh, I think so.” She loved the way Wesley’s eyes widened in alarm. Always one step ahead of the game was Wes. 

“He’s going to need help with that too, you know. “ She nodded to Angel, whose fingers were now tracing delicately over Wes’ lips. “Not a sound, guys. I need to concentrate.”

Wesley’s stomach dipped as he inhaled deeply in preparation for her particular brand of exquisite torture. She bent forward again, and blew very lightly across Wesley’s hip, grazing his groin with her fingernail. 

And if he made any sound, then Angel’s use of his own mouth as a gag was a highly effective measure.

*~*~*~*

The switch was unexpected. To be honest, she was rather embarrassed that they’d conned her so easily. One minute she was giving Wes the best almost-a-blow-job she was sure he’d never had, the next she was on her back, with Wes straddling her thighs, and Angel doing that highly effective gag thing, only on her mouth.

Unexpected, but not unwelcome. It was good to see them working as a team again, even if their intention was to drive her to the brink of orgasm and then pull her back as many times as humanly possible. Considering that only one of them was still fully human, that was a slightly worrying proposition.

Angel broke the kiss, and gave her a smug little grin. “Having fun, Cordy?”

She titled her neck, caught his lip between her teeth and nipped sharply, tasting the tang of iron and salt on her tongue. Angel didn’t pull away till she released him, then swept his tongue over his lips, his grin as smackable as ever. 

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” He trailed his finger idly over her cheekbone. “Wes, Cordy doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself. Maybe you can give her a hand?”

She suddenly found herself very jealous of Lilah Morgan. Or very grateful to her, depending on your perception of their relationship. The first movements were gentle, almost languid. The soft brush of his thumb along the edge of her clit set a tingle in her stomach, and she fought the urge to thrust her hips upwards.

“That’s good, Cordy.” Angel’s voice was maddeningly soft next to her ear. “Nice and still.”

This time Wes slid his forefinger in, just a little, curving it gently, crooking it, as if beckoning to her. She couldn’t help it, her muscles contracted, drawing an unwilling whimper from the back of her throat. She felt the chuckle build in Angel’s chest. 

It was a mistake, she realized, to glance down at that moment. The sight of Wesley working so intently, his tongue unconsciously tracing his bottom lip, almost sent her over the edge. He had this thumb and forefinger inside her now, twisting and turning, deep, but not deep enough. She wanted desperately to clamp down and have him push into her, but that wasn’t the way they were playing this.

She pulled Angel down instead and kissed him with enough force to clash their teeth together, feeling the smile that curved over his lips. Oh, they were going to make her suffer. She locked her arms around his neck.

“You thinking of letting me come any time tonight?” Her voice shook with the effort of feigned indifference.

Angel pretended to consider it. “Guess you’d better ask my right hand man.”

She hit him on the shoulder, then arched up again as Wesley found the combination he’d been searching for. She felt a slow burn in the pit of her stomach, pushing down to drive his fingers deeper into her, but instantly his hand was gone.

“No!” A half-strangled scream forced its way out of her mouth. Wesley was sitting casually between her thighs, his fingers glistening in the dim lamplight.

“You bastards!”

Wesley did that clicking thing with his tongue. “Sex is bad, wasn’t that the hypothesis, Angel?”

Angel could barely contain his laughter. “That was the one.”

Wesley nodded, and his hand fluttered to his face, as if to adjust non-existent glasses. “I’m simply collecting some empirical data, Cordelia. I can hardly make an informed judgment on anecdotal evidence alone.”

“Oh, give your mouth a rest!”

She might have known Wes would take that as a challenge. The fingers had been torture, but that was nothing compared to the light graze of stubble across her inner thigh. She jerked gracelessly as his tongue pressed into her, then learnt firsthand exactly how good a linguist Wesley really was. She gripped the sheet in tight fists and threw her head back, as Wesley performed what he later informed her was an alveolopalatal fricative, and Angel licked lazily at her throat. 

In the end it wasn’t the light, almost unbearable flutterings of Wesley or Angel’s tongue that sent her over the edge. She opened her eyes and saw Angel’s hand sliding down past her breasts, past the curve of her hips, till his fingers came to rest lightly on Wesley’s head.

And that was when she came. 

*~*~*~*

She leaned against the door jamb, the wood smooth against her naked thigh, and watched them. Up until then, they’d concentrated on her. Which had been kind of nice.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate their efforts. On the contrary, she’d been extremely appreciative, showing her approval a number of times. But pleasant as it was, her satisfaction was not the main concern in this. It came down to the perspective thing again. 

She’d come back to set Angel back on his path, but she knew he was going to need some company on the journey. Wes was going to need that too, maybe even more than Angel. If she could give them this; this moment, this connection; well, it wouldn’t change the future, but it might give them the strength to endure it.

Plus, on a totally shallow note, they looked incredibly hot together.

She lifted the little bottle of oil from the marble counter and padded back to the bed, settling herself comfortably on her side. They both lay facing her; Angel curved tight against Wesley’s spine, his arm crooked under Wes, palm laid against his chest, his other hand resting lightly below the scar from the gunshot. 

Angel looked over at her, and she knew he was thinking it too.

_“Wesley doesn’t need you right now. We don’t need you.”_

She reached out and covered his fingers with hers. “We need you.”

Wesley opened his eyes and smiled at her, a strangely solemn smile, no hint of the ironic good humour of earlier. She returned the smile, then lifted her hand away. 

Angel slid his hand over Wesley’s hip, stroking down his leg, and the ticklishness that Wes had shown previously was gone. He pressed back against Angel, dropping his head to kiss at the arm wrapped around him. Angel made a soft noise in the back of his throat, that wasn’t quite a growl.

He guided Wesley’s knee up with careful gentleness; as if afraid Wes might break if he moved him too quickly. She heard the faint hiss of breath; saw the tension in the hamstring as Angel moved him into position, then looked at the bottle of oil she’d left on the nightstand.

The scent of black pepper and juniper was strong, as she tipped the bottle delicately, making a tiny glistening pool in his hand. She rubbed her hand against his, the slick, soft suck as their palms separated sounding almost like a kiss. Angel traced the tight lines of Wes’ thigh with firm strokes, sweeping a little further back each time. 

She could see the muscle jump in Wes’ leg as Angel prepared him, and she wasn’t sure if the groan that Wesley tried to stifle was of desire or pain. Maybe a little of both. Wes clamped his mouth around Angel’s wrist, and fought to relax, pushing back onto Angel’s fingers.

The angle wasn’t great, and when Angel entered him, Wes bit down hard, raising tiny red welts on the pale wrist. He stiffened, as if expecting rejection, but Angel cradled him closer, bent his lips to Wes’ neck, kissing along the scar that Wesley didn’t know he had.

And they both relaxed, and began to find a slow, gentle rhythm. Angel released Wesley’s leg as he pushed into him from behind, but still kept his arm wrapped around his chest, holding him tight. He didn’t need to, though; Wes was meeting every thrust, pushing his hips back each time. 

Watching them was hypnotic. They were locked together in a tangle of limbs and curves, the soft sheen of damp skin almost glowing in the dim light. It was beautiful, and she would have been content simply to watch, but they had other ideas.

“We need you.” Angel’s echo of her words was quiet.

She wasn’t sure who touched her first, but suddenly their hands were on her, urging her forward. She slid over to them, and Wesley drew her close, as Angel wrapped his hand around Wes’ cock and guided him inside her. 

They lost the rhythm initially. She pushed down when Angel pulled back, and Wes’ hips snapped forward jerkily. But it didn’t matter. This didn’t need to be perfect. _Couldn’t be_. Not with stolen memories of babies and betrayals between them. 

She reached up to touch Wes’ neck where Angel had kissed him, to the invisible scar that she’d only seen when it was completely healed. Whispered her apology so quietly that only Angel could hear it. 

And then Angel’s hand was on her face, and he was kissing her; cool mouth and tongue; Wesley’s breath hot on her shoulder, his stubble rough as he kissed her gently. Angel pushed hard into Wesley, driving him deeper into her, and then they were moving together, as one. 

*~*~*~*

Cordelia straightened her blouse, and smiled at the watermark the whiskey had left. The blouse wasn’t a one-off; she’d seen it in several of the more exclusive stores, and wouldn’t have any trouble ordering it again. Heaven was surprisingly fashion conscious; at least her version of it. But to her, this blouse was special. A reminder. 

She glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Five thirty. It was still dark outside. She remembered coming home countless times at this hour, moderately triumphant, but mostly tired and hungry. Angel would cook eggs and Wes would fiddle about with the teapot or the coffee machine, while she directed operations from the toaster.

She looked back at the table she’d set for breakfast and bit down on her lip. 

She understood the ending now. Not the hill of beans analogy, which would forever remain a mystery to her. But the actual ending. Where Rick let Ilsa get on the plane with her husband who was supposed to be dead. And she so did not appreciate being cast as the kinda ugly male lead. She looked over to the bed, where they lay side by side, Angel’s arm thrown over Wes’ shoulder protectively, and wondered which of them was Ilsa. 

On reflection, she decided it might have been nice for Rick, Ilsa and Victor to have shared a threesome before they parted, but she guessed the directors would have had a hard time sneaking that one past the censors.

Anyway, back to the ending. It was the perspective thing again. In the grand scheme of things, what the three of them had just done didn’t matter at all. But what they were going to do, well, that mattered a hell of a lot. The Powers weren’t stupid; they needed their heroes patched up before they broke them again. That was why they’d let her stay.

She wished she didn’t know what was to come. The hurt and pain were going to be almost unbearable, and she wanted desperately to be with them for it. But the Powers had been very specific about the terms of her visit, and she had a feeling she’d stretched her curfew to its limit.

She understood now why Rick couldn’t leave, and why she had to. 

_“Where I’m going, you can’t follow.”_

Not yet, anyway. She looked over at Wes, then at Angel, and they blurred together, shimmering at the edge of her vision. She swiped her hand roughly under her eyes and lifted her chin defiantly. 

“Got to go, guys. Like the song says, you must remember this.” 

She looked at her boys, one last time.

“Oh… and you’re welcome.”


End file.
